Passage 10

Bermuda to Azores Archipelago with ARC Europe 2007

Kittiwake - 21 June

At sea again at last. The 'Azores High' finally reestablished. Sunny skies and gentle winds for the first time in two weeks. Faial looking green and lovely with its patchwork quilt of green fields cloaking its many faceted slopes. The town of Horta bright and cheerful with its fine civic buildings, dwellings and proud churches all neat and tidy with their colour-washed stucco walls edged in black volcanic stone.

The Azores have been suffering the worst prolonged period of summer weather for as long as any of the locals can remember. Dark clouds, constant drizzle and rain, gloomy 'mid-winter' light, cold nights and cool days. The storm we came in on also turned out to be the worst such summer event in 25 years or so. Just bad luck for all concerned.

Within four hours of getting in that dramatic night we had commissioned the local engine Jean-Pierre to assess our engine problem. He came the next morning and agreed that the oil leak was probably through the crankcase seal. The part was duly ordered and thus began the long wait.

It was optimistically predicted to be available by the following Wednesday but lack of spares in Lisbon meant it had to come from Stockholm. The bad weather then meant that the planes could not land at Horta and the delay dragged on. Deadlines were being passed and James had to depart for the UK to prepare for his new job. He flew out last Saturday. A part of the life of the team fell away at that time - such has been his unflagging contribution to our efforts. Ian was the next to leave - he too had to get back with our ETA to the UK still so much in question. He departed yesterday. Again a great loss. It is hard to describe how much you can miss these wonderful folk that have been so generous in spirit and so skillful in so many different ways. They were both sad to go too not wanting to leave others behind and not wishing to miss out on the conclusion of a voyage where so much has been shared and achieved.

All the best teams need strength in depth and Graham joined us last Friday to give us a well needed boost of his boundless enthusiasm for sailing. He had a long arduous journey to get to Horta by air. But he was in time to join the slightly delayed celebration of Ian's birthday.

This we did in fine style at a local restaurant where you are given a hot rock of lava to cook your raw meat and fish on. Wonderful fun and just the tonic we needed. It meant all five of us were together for that 'last supper' before all the changes.

Since then the seal arrived. The engine was broken open by Jean-Pierre on Tuesday with me acting as 'theatre nurse' passing bits and pieces, holding levers needed to prise innards apart and swabbing foreheads. It turned out that several nuts on the back of the crankcase were loose and the gasket was leaking. The seal was hardened but actually not that bad. All back together again now and tested for an hour and then on full load for 15 minutes without any obvious problems. With this good news we set about preparing Kittiwake for sea - food, fuel, water, gas.

We left the inner harbour wall at 14:00 local time. This was no mean feat as we were by then the inner of five boats rafted up. Their crews were very helpful some choosing to sailing at the same times, others just moved off just long enough for us to get away.

We headed north up the Canal do Faial passing Pico to starboard. It was evening by the time we were between Sao Georges and Graciosa. Looking back the sight was spectacular. Sao Georges looked for all the world like a stone age dagger set carefully in the ocean. Its rugged chipped edges lapped by the swell, its low hills covered in a mossy carpet above. While beyond to the south the volcanic peak of Pico, all 2,350 metres rose, like some mid-Atlantic Mount Fuji above a skirt of cloud - serene and mystical, as if off the cover of Frank Herbert science fiction novel.

The night was no less a sight. By the time I came on watch at midnight we had just passed Graciosa. The island's lights sparkled a dull gold in a random chain like a necklace casually discarded upon a dressing table. The western end was ablaze with the blinding sweep of the Pta da Barca lighthouse beam that probed out across the water to light up our sails and the night beyond. Far away to the east we could see the flashing green light of Vila da Praia. The night grew soft and gentle and we plodded on till dawn - all sun and blue skies settled in the reach of the Azores High. This is how it should be here at this time of year - but guess what - we are not happy because this means light capricious airs and slow progress. We have the main out and the genoa poled to port idling along at under four knots. Time to recharge the batteries and gain some northing on the engine for a few hours.

All on board fine and doing well.

Mark
Kittiwake
100nmiles north, north east of Faial

Kittiwake - 22 June

Another day at sea. Not a lot to report this time. Sightings of a pair of whales (1 cable off the port beam going the other way), two pods of dolphins (played along in fine style) and a turtle (ignored us). The sunset was OK but the night sky was wondrous. Not a cloud above in a half moon lit dome resplendent in a glorious haze of stars. Add shiny satellites cruising over at regular intervals and the streaking of shooting stars pressaging the final moments of meteorites as they burn out in an orange glow and you have a scene to ponder on.

We are still in the grips of the Azores High and as such the winds have been light and fitful. Yesterday we flew the cruising chute till it collapsed like a hot air balloon running out of lift. On went the engine again and it stayed on through the night till this lunchtime when the wind finally returned to allow us to fly the spinnaker - a first for this trip. Andy and Graham are both keen yacht racers and had great fun getting the 'kite' aloft. It took several goes and much thought to get it right. Kittiwake is a cruising yacht and not set up in the way racing yachts are and much improvisation was required and a lot of skill. Andy's mission - to fly the kite in the Atlantic has now been realised and Graham is truly happy for the first time since leaving Horta now we have the biggest sail up and the engine off doing six knots in only 10 knots of wind!

We are all tired. The rush to get away after the uncertainties and delays had taken its toll. This coupled with the fact we are only three up means the watch system is more demanding. We do two hours on, four off during the night and three hours on, six off during the day. It is still luxury compared to the double handers but it takes some getting used to particularly as communications, boat checks, sail trimming and cooking, eating and washing-up have to be slotted in even when you are technically 'off watch'.

Given that not much happened since my last log it is worth reflecting a little on the contributions that James and Ian made to this voyage. We miss them sorely. Ian was with Andy and Graham and me for the first stages from Brighton to Plymouth and out across Biscay last May/June. He rejoined again in Antigua with Andy. His unfailing good humour, warmth, and support especially when the going gets tough have been exceptional. We all enjoyed his cooking and relied on his natural helming skills. James has been my constant best friend and first mate in every sense since Bayonne for the past 8,500 nmiles, 13 countries, 17 islands and 28 guests and crew. Throughout I have come to rely on his judgement, commonsense and acute ability to diagnose and deal calmly with problems in a crisis. He has been the perfect companion and been the perfect host to all the visitors who have joined us along the way. This shows the outstanding young man he is - liked and respected by all.

It has been a feature of life on this trip that there has in all the year away and all the challenges faced never been a cross word or so much as a rankle with anyone by anyone. The support and selfless contributions made all who have sailed with me have made my job so much easier than I had any right to expect.

Yesterday afternoon we saw the last Azorean island in sight, Terceira, fall below the horizon. All being well the next land we shall see will be the coast of Cornwall. Falmouth is just over 1000nmiles to go and we are all anxious to make the landfall.

Last night I cooked honey and lemon glazed BBQ chicken to top pasta tossed in fresh parsley, cracked pepper and butter with a rich sweet pepper tomato sauce. Just right as the evening cooled and the night airs crept on.

All on board well and doing fine.

Mark
Kittiwake
1004 nmiles from Lizard Point

Kittiwake - 23 June

After an uneventful day the night was ridden with excitement, challenge and wonder yet again. As the day drew on the clouds came over and the skies greyed - looming, dull, rain sodden masses. But it being a Friday I set about cooking what may be our last Friday night curry at sea. We had a chicken and prawn red Thai variety flavoured with fresh ginger, garlic, coconut milk and lime leaves. This was accompanied by pappadoms and fresh onion, tomato and cucumber salad and a good dollop of lime pickle. We ate massively and with relish. Just as well. No sooner than we were perched together in the cockpit finishing off the meal than the heavens opened and the clouds released their burden. Soon the sails and gunnels were awash with fresh water and we needed full foul weather gear to keep warm and dry - well, all but the edges.

We still had the spinnaker up as the night engulfed us - not so much sunset as a gathering gloom that settled into a black rain lashed merk.

We were racing along in 15 knots of SW breeze into the night. Then the excitement began. A sudden change in wind direction coupled with a large swell contrived to allow the spinnaker to sag and, as the boat caught up with it, to wrap itself immutably around the forestay. Ninety long minutes later the beast was tamed and ignominiously stuff, soaking and tangled, back into its 'turtle' (bag). Graham and Andy battled valiantly on the plunging foredeck to first stop the wild, tortured billowing mass from flogging itself to pieces. Then inch by inch they passed the twisted foot around the forestay with me pulling like blazes on the guy from the cockpit. This process had to be repeated endlessly to undo the twist so that the halyard could be dropped and the sail gathered in. Each time the guy had to be unhitched and rehitched but finally it was done.

We regrouped in the cockpit - all soaked and exhausted, but I have to say exhilarated by having tackled yet another challenge successfully.

This was a difficult piece of seamanship achieved safely and professionally in the pitch dark, pouring rain and plunging deck. Lots of communication and ideas flowing and a coordinated team responding effectively. We ran up the staysail just to balance the boat while we had a round of warm drinks. This done we then set Kittiwake up for what was left of the night by poling-out the genoa to starboard and goose-winging before a veering wind first north east then east till day break.

After the battle of the sails came another wonderous moment - probably the highlight of the trip for me. I had the watch now as the others tried to grab a couple of hours sleep. I like the night. It is the best time of day usually. The boat is settled down, the crew are asleep, no more jobs to be done, food to be cooked or washed up, not even conversation necessary. You have the deck to yourself and can relax and enjoy the senses and sounds of sailing in mid ocean.

Last night was dark, dark - but the perfect backdrop for the most spectacular phosphorescence I have ever seen. The wind was up and the swells building. Kittiwake (who again had stayed rock steady during our earlier struggles with the sails) was surging along. As she crested each wave a shimmering blanket of foaming, sparkling brilliance was thrown metres out from the cleaving bows. So bright was the effect that it briefly lit up the sprayhood interior like a slow strobe light flashing as each new wave was broken. Looking over the side at the display it seemed as though we had underwater hull lighting - an affectation some super yachts actually have.

This was marvelous enough. I stood mesmerised by the transient beauty - like the whitest sherbet dip fizzing on a crust of frosted lemonade laid upon the blackest coffee sauce. But more wonders enfolded. My attention was caught by a triple streak of dappled light racing toward the port quarter at lightening speed just beneath the waves. The streaks broke apart, doubled back, returned, twisted and wove, disappeared and reappeared. Dolphins had arrived! Now I was the solo audience to the most fantastic light ballet I can conceive of ever witnessing.

'Beautiful', 'poetry in motion', 'exquisite', are pallid expressions to describe Nature as art last night. Time and time again the dolphins sported about the boat leaving swirls and curls, streaks and loops each lingering fleetingly beneath the surging waves. The curves looked like Chinese painting or calligraphy strokes - delicate, precise and deliberate. Were they aware of the light show they were putting on? Did they delight in this natural marvel as I did? I sensed they did and played with them with my torch. Over and over again they followed its sweep and flashes complementing its movement - adding their own flourishes and interpretation - or so its seemed to me entranced, captivated and moved as I was. Then they we gone. I was left with the night and the thrown lace sheets sparkling in a rushing hiss that before had been the main billing but now was no more than an an indifferent encore. The stars of the show had cut and swum.

The day broke to be bright and cool but overcast. Andy and I rigged the cruising chute for a north easterly run in a west, north westerly wind making good progress to Falmouth. Graham and I repacked the spinnaker untangling the twisted, still soaked mass. Graham did an expert job of patching a small rent that must have been incurred in the struggle.

It is time for lunch now and to catchup on sleep when we can.

All on board fine and doing well.

Mark
Kittiwake
863 nmiles from Lizard Point

Kittiwake - 24 June

Not much that is special to say today. All ships systems working as they should. Kittiwake rolling along in what is now a strong north, north easterly breeze dodging rain showers on a cool, brisk day of scudding low cloud and intermittent sunshine.

Yesterday we flew the cruising chute making good progress until the wind shifted round to the north later in the afternoon and we switched to plain sail on a close hauled port tack. The night was long, cold and periodically wet but we made good progress. Graham was the one treated to the underwater dolphin light show during his early morning watch.

Like me the previous night he was captivated by the display.

The past 24 hours have been fine deep water ocean sailing. Constant strong breeze with gusts to gale force but the waves blessedly a reasonable 4-7 feet and from a direction largely matching the wind. We reef in and out to get the most out of the winds without over stressing the boat and ourselves.

We are now just above (north of) the rhum line (most direct line from Horta to Falmouth) but some 180 nmiles below the nominal target latitude of 47N for this stage. Most passage guides suggest going well north first and then east. It is longer by about 100nmiles but avoids getting drawn into the Bay of Biscay by the current and prevailing winds. We have opted for a compromise route closer to the shortest distance. The winds are expected to head us for a day or so to come before backing to the north west so we expect to be able to gain further northing then.

So life continues, marked by the changing watches and daily routine of cooking, communicating, getting weather reports and sail trimming. The days pass slowly and the distance run seems to slip by very reluctantly but inexorably we progress. All being well we should be making our landfall next Saturday give or take a little. We are all keen to make out the Cornish coast and to sail in English waters for the first time in 13 months.

Nothing special for dinner last night. Just an instant concoction of what was called chicken pasta but could have been anything. Graham bulked it up with beans and sweet corn and in the clammy, cold confines of a darkening cockpit it was hot and satisfying.

All on board fine and doing well.

Mark
Kittiwake
730 nmiles south east of Falmouth

Kittiwake - 25 June

A dark sky and restless sea, looming clouds. A faint brightening to the east. Kittiwake scudding along in a stiff breeze close hauled on the port tack leaning away from the northerly wind and giving the shoulder to impertinent wave crests as they slam insolently into her bows.

Through the black wall of leaden skies ahead a deep red disc probes the merk from behind. The glow grows to a cherry red, brightens still to a fiery orange and breaks through as incandescent white to light the way ahead. It seems as though a blacksmith's iron has driven and melted its way through a sheet of lead. Dawn has arrived. But the lead is a large mass and quickly cools the iron. The glow dies and the wound anneals.

The sun tries again - changes tactics. If it cannot burn through it will rise above. Gradually shafts of yellow light, hesitant at first, seek the crests of the lowering clouds till they backlight the lofty edges and reach for the clear sky above. Confident now the light suffuses all and day breaks over the clouds to fill the world around.

Off the the south great geezers spring forth. First one and then three punctuating the seas. The towers of spray blow off in the wind to be replaced by others closer to. The ranks process across our wake half a mile away then disappear to leave you wondering how many whales were down there and where were they bound.

Sunday was not exactly a day of rest but is was uneventful. We drove on hard just above the rhum line making good progress to Falmouth. The wind is strong and very cold. It is hard to believe this is summer.

During the day we are wrapped up well, at night we are swaddled. Full thermals, hats and gloves and still the bitter night air bites through.

We are half way there now with a little under 600nmiles to go to the Lizard. All being well we should be into Falmouth on Saturday. We are already doing our pilotage for the approach, checking tidal streams, high tides and navigational hazards. Tides have not been a great feature to be contented with for much of this trip - but in the English Channel they are paramount. Judging the timing will be critical to get the best out the flow around the Lizard - our landfall and the headland before Falmouth.

Last night Andy cooked a very tasty tuna pasta dish and he is promising to make pancakes for brunch. Can't wait.

All on board well and doing fine.

Mark
Kittiwake
598nmiles from Lizard Point

Kittiwake - 26 June

The Good and the Bad but not the Ugly. First the Good. We have now had the longest spell of sustained upwind sailing of the entire trip. We have been close hauled on the port tack for over three days and covered some 400nmiles going straight up the rhum line for Falmouth.

The wind has been hard, blustery and very cold from the north but it has given us a fine tack and exhilarating sailing across this deep ocean. We have had the main, genoa and staysail out the whole time reefing in when necessary in unexpectedly strong winds and letting the reefs out when the wind moderates a little. Kittiwake has been flying along and clearly doing best what she was designed for.

Sleeping has been very difficult because of the angle of heel and the rise and fall of the hull and the occasional slamming into the smaller waves that get up under the bows. Living has been reduced to basics as we fight to get a grip while cooking, washing up and going to the loo, which is right palavar when in full foul weather and safety gear at night. Nevertheless, progress has been very good averaging over six knots and doing seven knots and even eight in spells. The sun has shone through from time to time and last night we saw stars for the first time for several nights. Boy but it has been cold.

I was congratulating myself, foolish boy, that I had had little to do by way of trouble shooting system failures or making running repairs. The past two days have been uneventful. But it was too good to last. The Bad was to awake today to the smell of raw diesel in the aft cabin where I sleep. At first I thought it was just the vent from the reserve tank smelling. It is very full and perhaps the angle of heal was causing some escape this way and the breeze was wafting the smell in. But no.

The reserve tank has sprung a slow but persistent leak right under my bed and there is no way to get at the problem short of taking the tank out and replacing it. A dock side job. It is hard for me to come to grips with yet another problem. This is particularly so after having addressed so many maintenance problems in a proactive and preventative way. We have also been swift to deal with any that have occurred along the way. I had the old mild steel main tanks replaced with new stainless steel before we left. The engineer and I inspected the reserve tank, that is away from the heat and humidity of the engine room, situated as it is in the aft cabin. We concluded it was fine. Wrong. Less than one week away from completing a 13 month passage the reserve tank must have developed a small corrosion or wear problem, probably on a seam on or near the base. Perhaps the stresses of the Horta approach caused the boat to flex just that little but more than usual and that was enough to open up a weakened seam. Whatever we have to deal with it. The obvious solution is to empty it and I have pumped out half the tank into the main tanks. But irony of ironies - after having been careful to conserve fuel - there is no more room in the main tanks to take the remaining 90 or liters left in the reserve. I am monitoring the problem and mopping up with paper towels but we may need to syphon the rest of the fuel out into cans. In the meantime we have the main engine on to make power and create more space to take the surplus. So in fine sailing weather we are now motor sailing again! It is all very frustrating.

So we power on and just get the heck on with it as usual - but these problems do take the edge off what should be and enjoyable sailing challenge - not a constant head it the bilges maintenance chore.

Early this morning Andy did a great job of dodging and weaving around a fleet of 14 fishing boats working their nets in pairs across our bows.

We had seen their lights all night as they moved around us but now they were dead ahead. Andy was amazed when one of them indicated that he would move over rather than force another change of tack. This was done with a cheery wave - the first time Andy has experienced a courteous gesture like that from usually disdainful fishermen in all his sailing career.

I need to go and mop-up some more diesel and decide what to do next while Kittiwake powers on. We have just 442nmiles to go to the Lizard - two thirds of the way there now.

All on board fine and doing well.

Kittiwake
442nmiles from Lizard Point

Kittiwake - 27 June

Stars again through broken cloud, and a pregnant moon dipping low to the west. Cold is the night. The biting air keen on the cheeks, piercing the body and blurring my vision as I scan the lonely scene of endless ranks of restless waves. No colour, no ships, no birds, no natural sounds but for the rush and hiss of limitless water rushing by from somewhere to nowhere, and the keeing of the wind in the rigging.

It is strange but this dark seascape, so alien from the land, should be now so familiar and undaunting. For so different is it from the cosy security of land we take for granted. So remote, so unforgiving, so indifferent, so necessitating self-reliance. Yet with calm I look upon it. Its very vastness encourages reflection and through its infinite tracts puts perspective to thoughts, actions and concerns.

The much of life with its petty preoccupations that loom and consume are seen as the trivia they are. To be cut down to size, not dismissed but scaled and acted upon accordingly. The danger for those returning to 'regular life' I foresee is to be impatient with that 'much of life 'that is what consumes us normally. Worse to be impatient and dismissive of those to whom rightly the smaller things of life are what make it what it is. When you face extreme conditions at sea life becomes so simple. Deal with it or perish. There is no room for trivia. And when the challenges are less critical the routine of life is still simple, routine paced by the watch system and the procession of sun and moon.

So why these ramblings? I suppose it is the start of taking stock of this extraordinary experience of crossing an ocean twice with wonderful people and preparing myself for reengaging with life, family, friends and career. I suspect that those who had a rich and purposeful, loving life before will find it easier than for those for whom life was less generous, caring or certain. The lure of the sea and its simplicity must seem all the more attractive to the latter, whereas I look forward keenly to rejoining that which was put on hold during this interlude. I feel it has been a tempering experience but to what effect I have yet to understand. Only time and my family and friends will tell.

One thing for certain is my appreciation of the wonderful people who have made this all possible. Those who have accompanied me that I so like, admire, learn from and totally rely on. And those at home who have given encouragement, support and borne the burden of absence. Thank you.

But you may be wondering, what of the leaking reserve fuel tank? First thing was to pump as much fuel from it to the main tank. Next was to blot up the continuing but diminished seepage. Next was to rig up a hose to the main tank air vent and poke it out the aft heads window. With this I was able to pump fuel from the reserve to the main and then out the vent into cans. With the combination of actions we emptied half of the reserve tank without loss of fuel. Since then we have been motorsailing whenever the wind was light to make more room in the main tanks. If needed I could vent fuel to sea through the extended pipe but at present this environmentally unkindly act is being kept as a last resort.

To make up for a lousy day I took solace in cooking a really good meal for the lads. My version of a Moroccan chicken couscous using the remaining ingredients we have on board. I marinated the chicken breast in the zest of half an orange and its juice, garlic, oil, cumin, freshly grated nutmeg and cinnamon, a couple of cloves and a little Tabasco Churasco sauce. The chicken goujon pieces were pan fried and then glazed in honey to caramalise. Meanwhile I browned two finely sliced onions and sweet peppers till they also carmalised. These were added to the couscous. I then prepared a sweet and tangy cinnamon flavoured tomato sauce to go over the coucous with the chicken pieces laid on top. A feast that set us up well for the cold night.

We continue to progress and all on board are fine and doing well.

Our ETA on Falmouth is now looking to be Friday afternoon so we are all getting excited about the landfall.

Mark
Kittiwake
292 nmiles from Lizard Point.

Kittiwake - 28 June

The penultimate day at sea before Falmouth. Early this morning we reached 'Europe' passing over the continental shelf and startling the depth sounder into action for the first time in a thousand miles. It is currently showing 167 metres. We have just 160nmiles to run to the Lizard Point. We have done our pilotage and we have a favourable tidal window tomorrow afternoon and early evening for the final run up the coast to Falmouth.

The winds have been gentle - too gentle - over night with a deep swell running from the west making life very uncomfortable. We motorsailed most of the night, one to give us a bit of drive to stabilise the boat and second to use up some more fuel in the main tanks so I can get the remainder out of the leaking reserve tank. I pumped this over this morning and we have successfully stablised the situation. I will need to replace the tank on our return to Newhaven. More expense - but not such a difficult job.

We know we are approaching the Channel as we have had several tankers and frieghters pass in the night and this morning. One unusual sight was a submarine on the surface that ran down passed us just off our starboard beam. I'm glad we encountered this during the day. It would have been almost impossible to have spotted it at night.

We feel as though we are in a strange limbo period now. The voyage still seems endless. The routine continues, the waves roll on and the seascape remains infinite. Yet our anticipation is growing. We are all very tired and keen to get in. At the same time we are sad that this is almost the end of a remarkable passage - just nine days from Faial - and for me the end of 'Kittiwake's Atlantic Islands Adventure'. So much has happened during that time. So many wonderous moments, so many sights, so many emotions, so many problems to overcome, so many weather and navigational hazards to have mastered, so much learnt, so much to learn, so much endured, so much enjoyed, so much shared, so much reflected upon. It is too soon to make sense of it now but I have been reviewing these ups and downs in my mind during the long night passages. I will put some of these in the final daily log over the weekend when I have time to do so.

Last night I cooked a comfort food chicken chow mein with shitake mushrooms, peppers, bamboo shoots and ginger in a hoisin sauce.

Absolutely delicious. You may have wondered why I have spent so much time relating our menus. Like Wellington who said an army marches on its stomach I believe this to be true of yachtsmen. Left to their own devices though most won't make the effort to eat properly and often feel they are not hungry. They snack and coffee instead. To be true it IS a horrible job cooking in a seaway and the motion makes you not seek food.

But it is so important to keep the calories up and the health and good spirits that go with them. My philosophy has been that good tasty food if presented will be eaten and appreciated and so it has proved. I am sure this has been one of the factors that have made all our trips memorable and enjoyable during the good times and endurable and manageable through the tough. Besides I enjoy creative cooking and it has been a pass time and a solace throughout.

Our greatest fear now is not the weather - although we are in for a difficult final night of strong winds and rain as we scoot in under the low over Ireland - it is that the breweries are on strike, the curry houses and kebab shops shut down and the fish and chip shops closed for lack of cod and there is no purpose in returning to England.

All on board well and doing fine.

Mark
Kittiwake
158nmiles from Lizard Point

Kittiwake - 29 June

Land Ho! What a marvelous cry to utter. An exultation. A presage of the beginning of the end. A fulfillment. An anticipation. A requiem for what has been. A joyous moment tinged with sadness for what is about to cease. All this and more was how I felt as I caught sight of Lizard Point yesterday morning and announced our landfall. The first glimpse was tantalising, begrudgingly given as the driven low cloud and misty rain cleared for a moment. Seconds later the sun broke through and the green fields and craggy headland sprang into view and we were home.

The final night had been tough. All the previous day the wind had been shifting gradually to the south west. The sunshine of the afternoon gave way to low cloud and the wind rose. We turned to windward briefly to get the main down. Being in-mast furling the main is difficult to reef under pressure and I wanted it safely tucked up and out of the way in anticipation of strong winds that night. We progressed up the rhum line on twin headsails running before the rising south westerly. By nightfall the wind had risen to a full gale and Kittiwake was bowling along at 8-9 knots in a deep swell. We reefed the genoa once and then again as her speed rose and she fishtailed in the building following seas. Next we reefed the staysail and then more of the genoa till we had just two small rags of sail up. Then came the rain, wafting up in thick misty clouds, instantly soaking all before and enfolding the night in its wet embrace. The full moon was kept at bay, unseen above the clouds but still able to keep the worst of darkness out of the night. The wind grew to a howl and the wave crests came rushing past in a tearing roar as Kittiwake surfed down their departing backs settling her skirts in a welter of spray. We now had a solid 40 knots of wind gusting 45 or more. Sleep was impossible. This was arguably the toughest sailing we had faced. The approach on Horta during the storm was done on a beat. This was a downwind run and the risk of broaching much higher requiring perfect balance in the rig - port and starboard sail had to be giving equal pull and there had to be enough canvass up to give us drive and steerage way but not enough to speed us along faster than the following waves. Again Kittiwake was magnificent - truly the only words to describe her performance. When the going gets tough this Westerly Ocean 49 is in her element and kept us safe and confident.

Not for the first time were we singing Ed Dubois praises for designing such an excellent ocean going yacht. Such a stable platform, so responsive and positive. Yet another trial of seamanship and conditions she helped us through.

The gale was short lived and by the middle watch the winds were beginning to drop, white spume was no longer being blown off the wave crests but the wave heights had not yet peaked. They continued to build for another hour or so until they too began to ease. By dawn - nothing more than a gradual shift from dark grey to pale grey - we gradually rolled out more staysail and genoa till their full size was restored.

By mid-morning we had the main back out and the genoa poled out as we rushed toward the coast in fine style.

The next challenge was to dodge the shipping as it headed to and from Lands End just off the port beam. LPG tankers, freighters, containerships, fishing boats and other yachts all added to the fun.

Then we realised we were into lobster pot territory and all eyes were on the look out for these wretched hazards. Most have a main float and a small line with a secondary float. Run over the line between and you run the risk of it wrapping around the propeller or getting it tangled in the rudder. The last thing we wanted on the final approach.

We were blessed with a glorious few hours of sunshine and blue skies as we swept passed the Lizard and rounded up towards the Manacles and Falmouth. We entered the channel just eight days and 23 hours since leaving Horta - a fine run by any standards. We progressed up the Fal and into the Penryn river with the town on our port beam. By then the skies had clouded over and the wind had risen to 30 knots. I had been lucky to have secured the last berth in Falmouth for a a yacht of our size (blessed is the satellite phone)- a pontoon berth in Falmouth Marina. The docking was seriously tricky. The tide was on the flood running hard against a gusting wind and we had to make a downwind approach onto an inner pontoon with less than Kittiwake's length to pull up into before the next boat moored ahead. It took three goes to get it right. Twice I pulled out and circled round again. The effect of tide and wind was blowing us off at the critical moment. On the third attempt I had its measure and with some excellent rope work by Andy and Graham were in!

What a sense of relief flooded over us. We had completed a very demanding seven week passage form Antigua to Falmouth via Bermuda and the Azores. We had dealt with four gales and a storm, engine problems, a leaking reserve fuel tank, an over heating battery and myriad other minor tribulations. Doggedness and a 'we can fix and deal with anything' attitude prevailed. Having back-up systems in every department, a very comprehensive spare parts inventory and extensive tool kit and a strong combination of skills on board meant we were able to solve all problems as we went along.

So we are here for the weekend to recharge batteries, drink too much and let the achievement of a successful circumnavigation of the North Atlantic Ocean and Caribbean over the past 13 months sink in. During that time 28 people have joined James and I as crew and guests. We have visited 13 countries, 21 islands and sailed over 10,000 nautical miles during Kittiwake's Atlantic Islands Adventure. If you wish to see pictures and other commentary please visit our website: www:Kittiwake-Atlantic.net My thanks too to World Cruising Club and staff for looking after us and providing a first class way of preparing for ocean sailing. I recommend the rally approach as a sociable and safe way of learning how to sail an ocean.

So now all that remains is a short hop of 230 nmiles up the English Channel to our home port of Newhaven next week. We will do this in one passage starting on Monday weather permitting.

My heartfelt thanks to all those who have sailed with us. My 'Salty Sea Dogs' the 'A Team': Andy, Ian and Graham for all the tough stuff - Biscay and the Atlantic return. My 'Young Guns' Emma and Robert for the trip down Portugal. To all the many others whose company we enjoyed on passages to Madeira, Gran Canaria, the ARC crossing and Caribbean cruising. But most of all to my son James for his steadfastness and companionship throughout.

And to you my many friends who have been with us in spirit all the way.

Thank you for your support and for encouraging me to write these daily logs. Sorry for the many spelling mistakes and poor syntax and over elaborate sentiments. I have no spell check on this computer. They went out unedited, often written under very difficult conditions when tiredness and emotion got the better of me. But for all that I have tried to convey some sense of what it was really like out there. I have taken pages to do this. James is more succinct. He described it as a total mind fxxk. I think that best sums it all up.

So now I look forward to reengaging with life and a spot of gardening well away from the tossing ocean for a while - like nine years of it!

All on board getting drunk and having a fine time.

Mark
Kittiwake
Falmouth